


They never quite leave

by nylie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, ikejiriday, post chapter 229
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9884456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylie/pseuds/nylie
Summary: The next time they find each other is not by chance, but choice.It's a few weeks after Spring High that Ikejiri finally texts Sawamura and asks him to hang out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for ikejiriday @ tumblr, although _as usual_ , I *am* late and to be honest, in the end I didn't use any of the prompts, but the important part was to celebrate Ikejiri, so here you have some love for my ship. 
> 
> I want to thank [strikinglight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight/pseuds/strikinglight) who is a wonderful person and not only did she take a look at this out of nowhere, but also helped me with the tittle by providing me with songs with great lines and fitting lyrics. 
> 
> Since we are at it, tittle comes from Vienna Teng's _Eric's song_.

 

 

The next time they find each other is not by chance, but choice.

 

 

He toys around with Sawamura’s number on his contact list for days, wondering whether Sawamura would want to meet again.

Since their encounter at the beginning of the year, Ikejiri had only gathered enough courage to text him the night before Spring High. He had typed _good luck!,_ added a _smiley_ he had then proceeded to delete and sent the text without giving himself room for thoughts. The _thumbs up_ he got as response had been enough to make him smile, his heart fluttering in his chest, a mess of feelings he’d rather not understand.

 _That_ remains their only exchange up until now.

He cracks the chat open and types again; _no second thoughts_ , he promises and presses _send_. In the end, his reservations are irrational. His short and unusual direct message― _Wanna meet up one of these days? ―_ gets a short and typical direct reply― _Sure, when?_ ―from Sawamura.

He lets Sawamura pick the place and time in the end, worried about sounding too eager, and laughs when Sawamura picks the next free time he has, just two days away.

 _It’s not like I have practice anymore_ , Sawamura texts him and although Ikejiri _gets it_ , he wishes he could sympathize more with his tone.

 

 

They meet by the park, same place they found themselves a few weeks ago. As always, Ikejiri sees him first, his call ( _Sawamura_!) sounding far louder than he pretends, and, _as always_ , Sawamura beams ( _Ikejiri_!) at the sight of him, full blown-out smile, eyes crinkling around his nose.

“We should stop meeting like this.”

Sawamura blinks, and _then_ catches on to the joke, his laughter earthy and strong. He bends, a hand on his stomach and tears in his eyes when he looks up, _towards him_. Ikejiri’s breath catches at the sight; there’s been always something about Sawamura’s presence that leaves him a little light headed and making him feel like he is standing on uneven ground.

“Well, it’s not like I mind.”

Sawamura shrugs, unpreoccupied, his grin still honest and open as his hand lands on Ikejiri’s shoulder. It’s such a simple gesture, a _friendly_ gesture―it feels like being back at Junior High.

 

 

It’s always been easy talking to Sawamura, even when he can’t find the proper words, when his thoughts get stuck in between his teeth, when he can’t even get them in the right order inside his head. Sawamura has always been a grounding force in his life, deep steps, big speeches, and a warm touch.

Sawamura’s hand on his shoulder lingers a bit, weaves his way down his arm as he lets it fall and hang beside his own hand as they walk, searching for a place to sit down. Sawamura makes small talk flow in between them, talking about exams and university admissions and how behind he is, and how _so worth it_ it was. Ikejiri isn’t surprised Spring High is the topic they land on.

“It was amazing,” Sawamura says, eyes lost somewhere in his memories. There’s a glint to them― _feverish_ , Ikejiri thinks and that old fire of envy burns deep down in his throat. But there’s something else building itself up inside him, something he’s been brewing for years, even as they were torn apart.

 _Pride_ , Ikejiri thinks, that’s what it feels like.

“ _You_ were amazing.” Ikejiri feels his cheeks colour when Sawamura stares at him with an expression he can’t discern, but he doesn’t back away. “I saw every game, _you_ were amazing.”

Sawamura blushes, hands in his pockets, and looks away as he says: “We were, weren’t we?” Pride is a curious thing; it sounds almost small, hesitant, tinted with disbelief, in Sawamura, so close to his own fears it feels _off_.

Ikejiri laughs the feeling away, bumping shoulders with Sawamura.

“ _Congratulations_.”

It doesn’t matter if they lost in the end, it doesn’t matter that Ikejiri meant him, _just him_ , that he watched every single game _he_ played, eyes on _him_ , as if no one else mattered―there’s a lot of things that do not matter.

Glory in Sawamura’s eyes is not one of them.

 

 

“Should I walk you home?”

It’s late when they leave, the sun is down and the cold is creeping on their toes. They walk close for warmth, arms touching and a blush on their cheeks, caused by everything but the freezing breeze. Sawamura looks at him, a glint of teasing on his eyes, embarrassment ever-present where he bites his lower lip.

It makes Ikejiri think of when they were twelve, when Sawamura, round cheeks and thin legs, had invited him home for the first time. The same determination in his voice.

“Worried I might get lost, Sawamura?”

“Not really, but the dark might scare you.”

It’s easy, falling back into patterns. Ikejiri hides his face behind his gloved hands, a groan caught in between his fingers. He remembers that first night, the cold futon on the floor, the lights coming off, and him fighting himself not to ask, _not to plead_ to turn them back on.

“I was _twelve_ , I think we can let that one go already.”

“I still think I should walk you home.” Sawamura shrugs, passing a hand over the base of his neck, the smile on his lips lingering. They look red and warm, in spite of the frozen wind that blows against the hair in between Sawamura’s fingers. _Inviting_ , in a way, and Ikejiri swallows his reply.

“Okay,” he says instead.

 

 

It’s been years since Sawamura made his way to his house, and somehow Ikejiri isn’t surprised he remembers every turn and street they need to go through before they reach the small porch of his home. It’s very Sawamura-like to recall details like that, engraved in his being, deep-rooted in his steps. It makes something inside Ikejiri ache. A familiarity he thought long gone, so easily brought up front. He remembers being fourteen and in love, or as much in love as a fourteen-year-old can be. Distance, they say, makes the heart grow fonder.

Sawamura talks about next year as if it’s happening today, plans on top of plans with so much ease it makes him eager to move forward. Sawamura has always been compelling like that.

“No university choices yet, then?” Sawamura slows his pace, his face focused on Ikejiri’s home, just a few meters away. It makes him think Sawamura doesn’t want this day to end. Hope, Ikejiri thinks, is a dangerous thing. “Sorry. I know how annoying that question is. I― I’ve been so absorbed by club activities up till now that when anybody asks all I can think is W _hy am I not at practice?_ Silly, right?”

“You were just telling me about your plans to join the volleyball team at university too, Sawamura. I wouldn’t call it silly, _expected_ probably, maybe a little _eager_.” He sighs. It’s been months of frustration on his part so for once he understand Sawamura’s desperation, hidden somewhere in his determination. Sawamura knows what he wants to do, he knows how he wants to do it; it just doesn’t have a clear destination like it did when he left Junior High and _that_ throws him off balance. Walking on eggshells is something Ikejiri knows about. “I don’t have a university yet, and I’m not even sure I’m going to make it into one. I― I don’t know if I want to, to tell you the truth.”

“Asahi is going to work on his dad’s place.” The words seem a bit off at first, out of nowhere, until he remembers Karasuno’s ace’s huge figure and the force of his hit, backlit for television. A third year, just like them―no, _like him_. “Guess we are all a little bit lost.”

“Comes with the age.”

Sawamura smiles, lopsided, a laugh caught in his ribs, the telltale signs of his amusement crystal clear in his eyes.

 

 

As they step in front of his door, goodbye lingers on the tips of their fingers. It’s heavy, the lull in the conversation doing nothing to help with the atmosphere. The lights are on outside and he can hear the clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. Sawamura stands in front of him; cheekbones carefully lined by shadows, lips red as he plays his teeth over them, hands still in his pockets, deeply hidden from view, his jacket zipped up to his chin.

Ikejiri wants to kiss him.

 “Safe and sound, then.” His own voice sounds coarse, a little high at the end, the result of tuning a broken violin. If Sawamura notices it, he doesn’t say a word; he smiles, bright and white and extremely handsome.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he says, nonchalant. Spreads his hair backwards with one of his hands and leaves a red tint to his cheeks when it’s gone. “What if the dark caught you?”

“Well, you wouldn’t have to see me again, then.” It’s half a joke, Ikejiri’s awkward laugh pretends to convey as much, but Sawamura narrows his brow, lips tight in a disapproving line.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he repeats, leans forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. His touch is warm and heavy, and leaves Ikejiri stranded somewhere in his thoughts.

He almost misses Sawamura’s next words.

“I _like_ seeing you.”

 

 

He goes straight to his bedroom when he closes the front door, barely shouting a _tadaima_ to whoever is home to hear him as he changes his shoes.

It takes a while for Sawamura to get to his own home, and he’s almost falling asleep when he finally gets the text Sawamura promised to send, _to make sure the dark doesn’t catch_ you _, Sawamura_.

He expects a direct and short _Got home._

Instead, he gets: _Wanna meet up again?_

 

 

It’s a choice he’s never had to make.

( _Sure, when?_ )


End file.
